The Opposite of Falling Apart [Formerly Three and a Half Good Legs]

7 (free sample)

When is it not bothering me? thought Jonas. Taylor seemed to be watching him carefully, from under her dark bangs, trying to see what he was thinking.

"I'll take you," he huffed, shutting off the tv. "Just go out and let me get ready."

Taylor rolled her eyes, but retreated, shutting the door behind her.

Jonas exchanged his pajamas for jeans and his Wash U sweatshirt, plus the hated prosthetic leg.

He took the crutches along too, because he certainly wasn't going to go it alone with the fake leg, without them as backup.

Since the humid air outside lay over everything like a hot, wet blanket, and the Bus didn't have air conditioning, Jonas was hot and frustrated. By the time they reached the library, Taylor was as irritated at him as he was at everything else.

If it weren't for the no-air-conditioning dilemma, he would have waited outside; as it was, he was forced to go into the library and tail Taylor from section to section, sighing in irritation every once and a while and telling her to hurry up, much to her annoyance.

She stomped into one of the back aisles, empty except for an armchair at the opposite end, and turned to face him, hands on her hips. "Go sit in that chair over there and wait for me." Jonas might have laughed if he wasn't so hot and inexplicably angry (forget gray days; this one must be red), because his sister was four years younger and about half a foot shorter than he was, and yet she was ordering him around, but instead he just glared at her.

"Fine!" he snapped.

"Good!" she snapped back, before whirling around and leaving him alone.

It was pretty quiet in the back aisle, and Jonas finally felt like he could think clearly.

He felt bad for his grumpy attitude. It wasn't Taylor's fault that her books were due today and she couldn't drive herself to take them back. And Taylor had nothing to do with the college thing, or the leg thing, or the Jonas-being-afraid-to-drive thing. He made up his mind to apologize to her whenever they were back out in the car.

He thought of his dad. He thought he might have been frustrated with his dad for making him take Taylor, but even that wasn't actually what was bothering him. His dad was only trying to get Jonas to move on. Elliot Avery wasn't as passive as his wife, however, and Jonas could tell he was starting to get frustrated with Jonas's lack of response to gentle attempts at persuasion. Jonas couldn't blame him for that; he was frustrated at himself too.

He glanced at the book covers in the aisle he was in. It was teen fiction of some sort.

He wondered when Taylor would be done.

When he turned to the side, there was that chair in the back corner. Jonas looked down at his leg, and then at the chair.

He gingerly extended the prosthetic leg until it was straight and rested his foot on the ground, so that his weight was still on the crutches, but he was sort of standing. He looked down, studying his leg. It looked normal, just like it had the other day, when he'd looked at it after getting out at the scene of the fender bender.

Jonas carefully transferred his weight from the crutches to his own feet. Sore, still, but not completely unbearable. And there was that feeling, from the other day, where his heartrate picked up and he felt like he was on the verge of something—of being better, maybe, finally.

He took a careful step forward towards the chair. Not too bad. Maybe he could get used to this in time for college, after all. Maybe he could even try stairs. Another few steps. He started to doubt the validity of that thought. Wishful thinking, maybe. Walking hurt.